His Lips on Hers
by johnnydicaprio
Summary: He crossed the line - from friendship into something more - at a dangerous time. Now, she's worried, over-thinking and over-analyzing, and he's heartbroken. He's going to have to fight for what he wants - And Ron Weasley has never been much of a fighter.
1. Unexpected Arrival

Hi, all. So about this huge pile of cheese on my account named _His Lips on Hers. _Well I wrote this a real while back, I re-read this story, a few days ago. And was appalled at my writing...for lack of better word. So I'm taking the chapters down and editing everything, and reposting everything. I know you might get alerts, but honestly it's worth a second read because it's turning out to be a completely different (AND BETTER) story. The basic story-line won't change, but I'm changing a few things, cutting out unnecessary cheese. This is purely for selfish reasons, as I cannot bear to have something so badly written on my account here. So, if you liked this story the way it was before, I'm sorry, this was the only option second to taking the whole damn thing off fanfiction.

Enjoy? Review the newly edited chapters? Thanks.

**johnnydicaprio**

xxx

* * *

Seventeen year old Ron Weasley rolled over in his bed, wincing at the strong rays of light coming through the half-open curtains. His eyelids flickered and he looked around the sunlit room. Not bothering to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds, he pulled a pillow over his head, ignored the chiming grandfather clock in the hall, and tried to drift back into sleep. The blasted thing was so loud.

_Goodbye sleep, _he thought bitterly.

Marginally awake now, he remembered that Hermione was supposed to come to the Burrow this morning to help his mother get ready for Bill and Fleur's wedding. His mind-fog cleared at the mental note, and he sat up straighter in his bed. At the action, a sudden and throbbing headache hit him, and he groaned, half fell, half rolled off his bed, trying to steady himself despite a slight hangover mostly due to the firewhisky he had to drink last night at Bill's bachelor party.

Swallowing, he realized his throat was still burning. He noted, rather alarmed, that he couldn't remember much, other than Fred and George's groggy recital of "Weasley is our King" and Hagrid bellowing "Odo the Hero" at the top of his voice to a terrified Mrs. Weasley. He remembered laughing. He laughed a _lot. _

Laughing Ron didn't sound good.

Determined to talk to his brothers and make sure he didn't humiliate himself, he walked over to his dresser and pulled out his jeans and a t-shirt, hastily getting dressed. He strolled out his door and into the bathroom, running his hand through his hair to make it more presentable –

_Presentable for what, exactly? Hermione? _A small voice in his head piped up. He was not in the mood for talking to himself, and the voice was promptly ignored. He didn't care how his hair looked. Honestly, he didn't.

_Yeah. Whatever you say. _

He pulled the door open as quickly as possible as to not give into his apparently rebellious conscious and sneak a glance at the mirror. Running out into the corridor, he ran down the stairs double time, and almost ran into Fred on the second landing.

"Where you off to, little brother?" Fred asked loudly, lifting a hand up to stop him. He was too loud. _Much _too loud. The remnants of the firewhiskey in Ron's blood angrily throbbed in his head. "Are we waiting for someone?" Fred continued pointedly, ignoring Ron's pain evident on his face. Then again, Ron couldn't help but notice he was slightly too perky considering it was so early in the morning.

"Get out of my way," Ron grunted. "I'm not in the mood."

"Tut, tut," Fred scolded, apparently having a little too much fun with the situation. "The least you could do is say 'Good-morning!"

Ron glared at him. "G'mornin. Now get out of my way."

"No, no," his brother complained. "You have to say it _right._ It's 'Good morning my dearest Fred, how lovely and corking to see you on this fine, beautiful – "

His speech was cut short as his face was now plastered against the corridor wall as Ron abruptly pushed him against it and out of the way. As he reached the kitchen Ron heard Fred bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"MUM, YOUR SON JUST PUSHED ME INTO A WALL! DO WITH HIM WHAT YOU WILL!"

"Shove off!" Ron yelled back, but not before –

"Ronald Weasley! What did you do to your brother?!"

Ron thought he heard a faint snigger from the top fo the staircase before his entire morning was ruined. "I didn't do anything mum, he was being a git."

Molly glared at her youngest son. "I will not have that language in my kitchen, young man." She walked back purposefully into the kitchen, and did not see Ron roll his eyes behind her. She levitated a pan of eggs and bacon, and they made their way across the room toward him. Rather alarmed at first, he realized it was only breakfast and not a bunch of pans and cutlery coming to punish him. The food dropped angrily (only in a way that eggs and bacon could) onto the plate just as Molly conjured a plate beneath them.

Grunting his thanks, Ron began eating, and did nothing else for some time. Finally when he looked up, he saw Ginny observing him from behind the _Daily Prophet_.

"Good morning sunshine," she said dryly, observing him with a slight upturn of her nose.

"G'mornin."

Ron continued eating, ignoring her judgmental eyes.

"It's rude to stare at people while they're eating, Gin," Ron snidely remarked in the end, shoving some bacon into his mouth.

"Well, it's not healthy to eat your feelings, Won-Won," Ginny retaliated playfully, expecting a similar comeback. "But you don't hear me complaining."

"Shut up."

Ron wasn't lying when he said he wasn't in the mood.

Ginny furrowed her brow in outrage. "What's wrong with you? Don't take out your crap mood on me!"

"I'm fine," Ron snapped, although it was slightly difficult to snap seeing as he had stuffed a spoonful of eggs into his mouth that could feed four people and attempted to digest it in one bite. Swallowing, he explained, "I'm just not incredibly _perky _as everyone seems to be today. Sue me for not running around with my happy face on."

Ginny didn't reply, and Ron didn't look up. For a few moments, there was a tense silence, except for the sounds of Molly magicking the scrubs to wash the plates.

"Hermione's arriving today," said Ginny finally, fixing a piercing stare on Ron – or more like what could be seen of him behind all the food he was trying to shovel into his mouth.

Ron raised his head to see Ginny wearing an expression reminiscent of McGonagall. Gulping loudly to swallow his food, "F-So?" Ron managed, desperately trying to ignore the nagging voice in the back of his head.

_It's not like you haven't noticed. Psh. Making your hair presentable. Ha. _

"Noo – oothing," Ginny drawled in a sing-song voice. Ron met her eyes, and holding his gaze, the corners of her mouth turned upward slightly. His stomach dropped.

_She knows. Now you're screwed._

After an age, "Just thought you'd want to know," she finished, and disappeared behind the newspaper, sniggering to herself.

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Ron lashed out, propelling himself out of his chair with a loud screeching sound of its legs.

Ginny brought the newspaper down, irritated now. "Well, seeing as she **is **your _friend_, I thought you would want to know!" she snapped back, all traces of humor gone from her voice, "She's your _friend_, isn't she? What the bloody hell is **wrong** with you?"

"I'm **FINE!**" bellowed Ron, his hair flapping around his ears with the force of the scream.

"KIDS! DON'T MAKE ME COME OUT THERE!"

Ginny glanced at the kitchen towards the direction of Molly, and attempted to answer back, but her retort was lost in the appearance of someone through the kitchen door – windswept, with a traveling cloak over their shoulders.

Ms. Weasley had just appeared over the counter to yell at her kids but she too stopped in her tracks and was now looking at the newcomer.

"Hermione!"

"Hi all!" Hermione said excitedly, her cheeks red and puffy, her hair tied up in a firm bun. She was slightly out of breath, but she was still beaming at all of the Weasleys. A piece of undigested bacon tumbled out of Ron's open mouth and onto the floor.

Hermione smiled wider, dropping her school trunk onto the floor. "It's great to see you all again!"

Molly was the first to snap out of the shock. "Hermione!" She pulled her into a rib-cracking hug, and then held her at arms length to observe her more closely. "Darling, look at how you've grown!

Hermione's cheeks flushed, but she continued smiling.

"How are you dear? I'm sure you're hungry! I'll whip up something for you to eat, shall I?"

"Oh, no need, really, I ate at home," Hermione replied gently, now locked in a tight hug with Ginny. "I'm really great actually, been busy with my parents a while, we went on holiday, see."

Ginny pulled out of the hug to see her face. "I've missed you so much, you have no idea," she said sincerely. "This one here," – she jerked an accusing finger at Ron, "Has been in a right foul mood for a couple of days now, and I needed someone to talk to." She leaned in and whispered, "There's so much _Pleghm _around, I can't breathe!"

It was only then that Hermione's gaze shifted towards Ron, and only then he realized that he had been staring at her, open-mouthed.

"Hi Ron!" breathed Hermione, moving forward to greet him.

Ron's body registered the fact that he had to move, and he walked towards her awkwardly, giving her a fast, one-armed hug. She hugged him back in that small instant, and he tore away, trying his best to sound nonchalant and unchanged, muttered, "Hey Hermione."

Something resurfaced at the pit of his stomach, and had clenched when her arms briefly circled his waist. _Lookie now, she's grown up hasn't she? Maybe your dear old mum was right! _

He really needed _not _to talk to himself.

Looking down at her now, he thought he briefly saw a look of mangled disappointment and frustration cross her face, perhaps at his short and definitely unfriendly greeting. Whatever the reason for it was, the look disappeared as soon as Ron had noticed, and her face was somewhat expressionless.

The moment between them lasted much more than a moment, and her brown eyes were locked onto his. He couldn't help but notice the way the light coming from the open kitchen door framed her perfect face…

"RONALD!"

Ron jerked awake from the daydream his mind had conjured, and popped the moment like a shimmering bubble. They both turned to face Molly. "Show Hermione up to her room, Ronald, before we all get old waiting for you."

A resounding crash echoed around the kitchen, seeping through the floorboards directly from a few flights up the house. Molly turned to Ginny, and sighing, said, "Would you check that, please honey? It's probably Fred and George. I've told them a _hundred _times!"

Ginny obeyed, running up the stairs before Molly could say anything else. She watched her leave, and began muttering to herself darkly, while Ron's mind raced, and Hermione looked away.

Molly turned back to Ron, and began tapping her foot impatiently. She spoke firmly. "Well Ron, sometime today would be nice!"

As Ron glowered to himself, Molly turned to Hermione, her voice apologetic. "You're going to have to share, I'm afraid. I hope you don't mind – we've got so many guests arriving for Bill and Fleur that housing has sort of become a problem."

Hermione smiled, though the affection didn't reach her eyes. Her voice cool and hollow now, she answered, "Oh, no. It's not a problem, don't worry about it Mrs. Weasley. Ron and I are great _friends_, I'm sure we can handle it. Right, Ron?"

Ron looked at her at the mention of his name. Her hair was wild now, locks of untamed hair cascading from her bun and onto her shoulders. Her eyebrow quirked up slightly, and her expression was challenging, almost daring him to contradict the nature of what she had just said. The stressed word, _friend, _leaped out at him, and as surprised as he was at the emphasis, he was more surprised at how it stung.

_I know why…because you aren't just friends are yo – _

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he blurt a little too loudly in a desperate attempt to silence the voice nagging him non-stop. "Sure," he said again. "No problem. Zilch. None whatsoever." And with that, he turned on his heel and led the way towards the staircase purposefully.

No one followed him.

"RONALD!"

"What, mum?"

"Her trunk?"

"Trunk, what trunk?" he snapped stubbornly, turning around too see Molly glowering at him.

"Well," she snapped, "Surely you don't expect _her _carry it up herself, do you?! Get back here and take this trunk, young man, if you know what's good for you!"

Rolling his eyes, Ron glanced sideways at Hermione, who was standing in the corner watching the scene unfold with a slight smirk on her lips. She rearranged her face to a blank expression when she caught Ron's eye.

Fuming, and as a result, a little more clumsier than usual, Ron crossed the room to pick up the suitcase. The whole incident lasted less than three seconds; he tripped over the carpet, caught his pants on the leg of the table, stumbled, and fell, with a resounding _thud, _face forward onto the floor. It looked a lot worse than it was, but enough to cause a scene.

"Ron! My goodness!"

Ron felt someone drop to their knees and lift him up into a sitting position. "See what happens when you're not careful?" Molly hissed at him, though her tone was still concerned.

Ron looked up; his sight a little blurred and slightly watery, but clear enough to see Hermione rushing to his side from the other end of the room, her face panic-stricken. It was oddly satisfying to see her so worried.

_About you, right? _

He staggered to his feet, and realizing he had a little head rush, muttered, "M'alright. It's fine. I'm good." He helped Molly up along with him, cutting across her rambling about head injuries and stopping her firmly from getting the _Household Healer _because -

"Gilderoy will know what to do!"

"Mum, Lockheart was a fraud. Don't use that book. He'll turn me into a bug or something." Molly glared at his son. "'M fine. Honestly." He repeated and looked around and saw Hermione turn her back on him.

Molly continued to eye Ron anxiously, until it became evident he had no head injuries or disabilities save for clumsiness, and that was just a God-given Ron trait. "Well," Molly continued, "Let's get Hermione settled in then."

Eyeing Ron cautiously, she levitated the suitcases with a twirl of her wand, and suspended in the air, they began to make their way up the stairs.

Ron and Hermione stood in the middle of the room, unmoving.

Molly's brow furrowed as she watched them both. "Well come on then!" she shouted, and they both jumped. "Get with it, we don't have all day!" She turned away and went back to monitor the plates washing themselves, leaving Ron and Hermione alone.

"Come on, then," said Ron gruffly, leading the way up the stairs as Hermione followed him silently.

Ron heard her steady breathing behind him as they trudged up the stairs. He did everything in his power to ignore the fact that they were completely alone on the second floor landing.

The floorboards creaked under their feet, and Ron pushed open his bedroom door. Only, he realized, a little too late that his room looked comparable to a war zone. His bed covers were scattered all over the place in his hurry this morning, he forgot that he had turned the whole drawer inside out to search for clothes, and small owl treats were on the floor here and there, where Pig had abandoned them mid-flight.

Hermione stood behind him and raised herself on her tiptoes to see into the room. He looked back in time to see her lips curl into a slight smile as she witnessed the scene.

Still outside in the landing, they both, however unintentionally, attempted to squeeze through the doorframe at the same time. This caused some problems. Ron threw his leg over the threshold just as Hermione had attempted the same, and they were now slightly stuck facing each other. Not exactly stuck, more paralyzed.

With a jolt, Ron realized how close they were; he could feel her legs pressing against his, her body against his chest. He'd never looked so close at her face, and she was fare more beautiful close up than he'd ever imagined. The moment froze, and their breathing froze, seconds seemed to slow down, and he felt himself _drawn _to her, from within his chest, as if an invisible thread was joining them, pulling them closer. Together they leaned in, their noses an inch apart…now a breath between their lips…almost grazing…

"OI!"

Startled out of their wits, they both spun around instantaneously, and the force slammed their heads against each other.

George appeared across the hall in bright blue robes and his Gryffindor slippers. Hands on his hips, he was wearing a very Molly-ish expression on his face.

"What is this rumpus?!"

"What rumpus?" Ron snapped, massaging his temple where Hermione's head had collided with his.

"You people have been yelling non-stop for hours downstairs! Have some respect! I've gotta get my sleep or I'm gonna get cranky!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and the whole landing trembled.

"_Get _cranky?" Ron muttered at the shut door. He turned back around and realized that Hermione was inside the room now, her back to him, unaware that he was watching. Her wrist was flicking around endlessly, her wand almost invisible, no words uttered from her mouth, directing spells to clean up the mess. Ron was still amazed at her command over such simple spells, such that the room looked pristine in less than thirty seconds. With one final flick of her wand, the curtains swung open and unfiltered sunlight blasted into the room, revealing the view of the garden below.

Flipping her hair over her head, she turned around. "There," she said in a satisfied voice. "Much better."

She smiled. Ron stared uncomfortably.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No, really," she moved forward. "What?"

"Just…before…George…you know…"

"Yes?" she prompted, a small smile forming on her lips.

"I was…" Panic gripped his insides, and he stepped back. "I was going to ask you if you'd talked to Harry at all this summer." A huge mental kick was aimed at his face for chickening out.

"Oh." She turned. "Yeah, a bit. I think he's arriving in a few days."

"Few days," Ron repeated, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Right."

"Right."

Ron sank into a nearby bed as she lifted her trunk and slammed it onto a desk by the window, starting to unpack. She waved her wand furiously, her hands flying around her, her hair larger than before.

Disgust filtered into Ron's thoughts. _I'm a git, _he though miserably. _Way to go, asking her about Harry. Really smart. Caring. You're pathetic. _

_Go kiss her. _

_No._

_Do it._

_No!_

_You're a wuss. _

_Am not. _

_Wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuss, wuuuuusss…. _

Mumbling something about fresh air, Hermione walked out of the room and slammed the door before he reached his conclusion. Ron sank into his pillow, annoyed at his own stupidity and cowardice.

* * *

Review? Like the editing? Don't like it?

-J


	2. Tea's Not Always The Remedy

Second chapter now up. This takes some major editing.

Review?

Johnnydicaprio

* * *

Hermione stood dumbfounded in the gnome-infested garden. She had run out the house blindly, unaware of where she was going, and found herself in cold night.

_What the hell just happened? _She thought weakly. _Almost happened…_she corrected herself. _Were we just about to kiss? _She looked up at the sky. _No. No. That's not possible. I just misread the signs. No. No way. _

She sighed deeply, breathing out into the silent breeze.

_What now? _A small voice at the back of her head asked quietly.

She stared at her feet. There was just something about Ron that she couldn't quite pinpoint, that made her skin curl. Her hair stand on end.

_This really can't be possible. I, Hermione Granger, am not…in like with Ron Weasley. _

Since she first met the boys, she had always imagined herself falling for Harry. Harry the smart, decent, responsible type. Harry, the hero. The chosen one. The boy who lived. Not the stupid, dirt-on-his-nose boy that irritated her out of her mind. That made her say words that she never thought she'd say.

Somewhere along the line when she was paying far too much attention to Harry, her heart fell for Ron without any input from her mind.

Still furious with herself, she kept shifting her position, feeling uncomfortable in her skin. She sat in this mindset for at least an hour, the dark growing darker around her, though she paid no mind to it. When the door behind her creaked, she jumped and turned around to see Ron stumbling towards her holding a large crocheted blanket around his shoulders, and two steaming cups of tea in his hands.

Her heart dropped to her stomach at the sight. At that moment, she hated every single thing about him defiantly, right down to the several inches of bare ankle showing beneath his sweatpants. She turned right around and fixed her expression to what she hoped was something natural.

Ron grimaced as he lowered his head and asked nervously, "D'you mind if I join you?"

She didn't look up but stared straight ahead. He dawdled above her shoulder awkwardly. After a moment, she shrugged. In a few seconds, he dropped down next to her, and put his hands around his knees and the blanket around his back. She repressed a shiver.

"Blimey, it's freezing." He whispered more to himself than to her. "Are you cold?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

The only thing colder than the air around them was her voice cutting through it.

"Do you want some tea?"

Hermione looked down at his outstretched hand with the steaming cup of tea. She took it with a small, "Thanks," and gulped down half of it in one sip.

She could feel his eyes on the side of her face. Ignoring his stare, she pretended to be interested in the gnomes strutting about the disheveled garden.

_Even the gnomes are smarter than him, _she thought savagely. _I bet the boy-gnomes know when girl-gnomes were angry at them for not kissing them. Stupid. Stupid freckled person. _

One of the gnomes fell out of Mr. Weasley's dragon-hide boots, and rocking back and forth, began cackling madly, rolling around the grass.

_That stupid, skinny, selfish - _

"Hermione?"

Her thought process halted.

"What's wrong?"

Biting her bottom lip so that she wouldn't shout or give in to the urge to blast a Ron shaped hole through the Burrow wall, she said "No, nothing. I'm fine."

"Are you mad at me?"

"No," she said quickly.

She heard him sigh exasperatedly. "Stop lying. You're angry with me, I can tell." He fixed a steady gaze on her face, and his blue eyes searched hers for some sort of explanation.

_If you think I'm going to tell you just because you're staring at me…_

"Hermione, I know you're angry, so if we could just talk…"

_Oh, so now you understand everything? You miss all those signs, but suddenly you know I'm lying. Go to hell. Take your stupid pants and gnomes with you. BE GONE. _

"No," she muttered through her teeth, her throat and voice constrained, desperately attempting to sound normal. She shook her head, cleared her throat, and repeated, "I'm fine."

_You aren't fine, _something nudged at her thoughts. _Just tell him how you feel, and everything will be okay – _

"Shut up."

"Excuse me?" Ron said indignantly. "I didn't say anything."

"No. Not you. Nothing. Forget it."

The silence that carried on between them after their short conversation was painfully unpleasant. Neither of them spoke a word; Hermione paid close attention and did not allow her eyes to wander around to his face. She noted out of the corner of her eye that he shot a couple of glances at her at times through the holes in the blanket around him.

Night had definitely fallen now; the gnomes that had been running around the garden retreated into the cool shades of the bushes. The sun began to disappear behind the clots of forests and high hills, visible barely beyond the borders of the Burrow. Hermione checked her watch inconspicuously; she had been sitting outside for near three hours. It had seemed like three minutes.

She heard an abrupt intake of breath from Ron, and turned to him expectantly, but even before Ron's mouth was fully open and able to form words –

"KIDS! INSIDE FOR DINNER!"

Molly's shrill voice pierced the growing silence. Ron's mouth closed shut. He pulled himself up to his full lanky height, and offered his hand to Hermione to pull her along with him. She completely ignored the gesture, scrambled up herself, pressed the still-hot mug against his chest without a word, and walked briskly through the back door of the house.

Ron raised his head to the sky, let out a small, irritated groan, and followed her inside.

* * *

I actually really do like this story. It was just very badly written. I hope you forgive me for your damaged eyes.

Johnnydicaprio

x


	3. Lessons in Royally Screwing Up

Aaaand, up again. It's rather fun to edit my old writing pieces. Its nice to see how much I've grown as a writer thanks to fanfiction.

I really like this scene now, and the climax is improved.

Johnnydicaprio.

x

* * *

Hermione suddenly became hell-bent on skipping dinner. Not wishing to bear the wrath of Molly if she just didn't show up, she muttered a lame "Upset stomach" in her general direction and ignored her somewhat disappointed face as she made her way up the stairs and into the bedroom she and Ron had to share. Slamming the door after herself, she kicked aside a few of Ron's belongings for good measure, before flinging herself onto the nearest bed.

Breathing a sweet, familiar scent rising from the pillow and the bed sheets, she realized with a sickening jolt that the bed was Ron's, and found herself inches form tears. Frowning, she furrowed her brow and violently rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands, feeling incredibly foolish for even contemplating crying after someone who did not even have enough brain cells to comprehend the situation they were in.

As soon as her head hit his pillow, however, she fell into an uneasy slumber. It didn't last very long. It felt as though as soon as she had closed her eyes, she heard a soft knock on the door.

It was only when she opened her eyes that she realized how much time had passed. Her adjusting eye caught the view through the window, and she was faced with the moon, breathtakingly pale against the sucking black darkness of the sky.

"Hermione?"

She sighed.

"Hermione?" Ron repeated, his voice cutting into the silence of the room. "Are you in there?"

Her brain adjusted to the situation slower than she would have liked. Tumbling out of his bed, she adjusted the covers, her clothing, and her hair – grabbing Ron's wand from his bedside table, waved it at the two candles on the wall, filling the room with dancing light. She crossed the room in a hurry and picked up a magazine from underneath her bed, perching herself 'casually' on top of her own covers.

"Yes I'm in here," she said in the direction of the door. She flicked open the magazine and stared blankly at a page, not really registering much but flashes of words: _lipstick – fashion – style – eye liner – body type – _"You can come inside if you want, I'm not sleeping or anything."

The door swung open slowly, and he walked in, wearing a concerned expression on his face that would be considered fit for visiting the bedside of a terminally sick friend. He didn't look at her directly, and she was glad of it (so she did not have to exercise more self-control to not be drawn into his eyes) – he walked over to his bed and sat down. The tension was packed so tight into the air that Hermione felt it pressing onto her chest, constricting her breathing.

Just to find something to busy her hands, she flung the magazine aside, and turned around to continue her half-finished unpacking of her trunk.

"Hermione."

He was promptly ignored.

"Hermione, you're angry at me."

"No, what makes you say that?" she answered, her voice jumping around octaves as she attempted to control her tone. She threw _A Thousand Magical Herbs and Funghi _and _Confronting the Faceless _onto her bed angrily, and they cascaded off the side of it, landing with loud _thuds _onto the carpet below.

"Well, perhaps it's because you've been behaving like I've killed your cat for the past three hours when I've been trying to talk out whatever this thing is with you." He glared at the back of her head. "Or maybe it's because you're ignoring me."

She didn't turn around.

"Great," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "More ignoring. Perfect."

She breathed through her nose, and clenched the side of her suitcase, her knuckles going white against her skin. "Ron, just leave me alone, I really don't want to talk to you right now."

"And why not?" Ron demanded, his voice rising slightly.

"Just forget it, there is no problem."

"Oh," he laughed, his voice hollow and echoing through the empty room. "Oh, so you ignoring me, treating me like I don't exist has just been a figment of my imagination? Maybe I'm going paranoid, do you think?"

She still did not reply.

His face grew furious. "Or maybe you're just cold-hearted."

Hermione whirled around, her hair flying around her, splashing wildly across her face. Her face contorted with anger, and for a minute, Ron thought she might throw something at him, and braced himself. Two seconds later, when he realized nothing heavy came into contact with his head, he looked up at her through his fingers, to realize that her anger had melted away just as fast as it had erupted.

"Evidently, you don't even think a problem exists, so I doubt you'd understand."

"You think so?" he sneered sarcastically, fighting the urge to scream. He leaped up from the bed, snarling, "Try me, why don't you."

"See that's exactly the problem." she spat, unable to stop herself.

"What's the problem?" He challenged.

"You always expect me to explain _everything _to you! I realize you have the emotional capacity of a three year old, but I'm sick of feeling like a teacher!" She shouted, shaking with rage. "If you don't think a problem exists, I'm not going to waste my time trying to explain it to you."

"I don't – " he began.

" – get it?" she laughed, her voice lofty, the tone she used when she intended to wound. Her laugh was cold, high, and impersonal, almost mocking. She folded her arms across her chest stubbornly, and raised her head. "I really did not expect you to."

"Stop that!" he finally bellowed, stepping forward, his tall figure casting a shadow onto hers. "Stop treating me like you think I'm a bloody moron!"

_Well, it's not my fault that's exactly what you are. _

She bit her lip and fixed her stubborn gaze on his face, barely stopping her mouth from vocalizing her feelings.

Ron scoffed loudly at her silence, his chest heaving up and down. "I bet _Vicky _understood what you were talking about all the time! I bet he understood what was going on in that crazy brain of yours when he couldn't even pronounce your _name_!" His mind noted that what he had just said was a low blow, but he had progressed far beyond conscious thought.

Hermione looked outraged. "Don't you dare drag him into this!"

"Why not, Hermy-oowwnnn?" Ron retorted childishly, his voice growing louder with every second. "Do you still have feewings for poor Vicky? Did ickle Ronnie offend you?"

Her features turned cold, her eyes ensnared his, and her whole frame shook with waves on anger traveling up her body, through her clenched fists. "How _dare _you ask me that?" she snarled, her voice deadly quiet, surges of hot fury flowing off her body.

If he reached out, Ron was almost sure he could feel hot waves of anger rolling off her skin. His hand twitched in his pocket.

"How could you ask me that after all that has happened?!" Her voice was suddenly loud, her pitch difficult to stand. "I don't remember questioning your snog-fest with Lav-Lav when you paraded her around my nose!" She spat viciously, stepping closer to his form. "Why the hell do you care anyway? Why have you _ever _cared about anything I ever had with Viktor?!"

"I care because I – " He froze mid-sentence and stared at her unabashedly.

She glared right back. "I'm listening. Do go on. Your stuttering is fascinating."

He sighed, rolled his eyes, and bit the inside of his lip. "I care because I'm your friend."

Something froze behind her eyes. "Right," she spat curtly. "Exactly. _Friend._"

Their eyes locked again just for a second, before she pushed past him to get to her bed and grab her pajamas. He stood there as she walked away towards the bathroom. She was almost at the door before his fists clenched to keep his words inside, and they exploded out of his lips without his consent.

"He's using you."

The silent statement made all the difference in the world. Ron could almost hear the break tracks her feet made across the floor, and suddenly Hermione had whipped around, her face distorted with shock.

"_What?_"

The hairs on the back of Ron's neck stood on end.

"I – "

"So that's what you think," she whispered, looking at him, her face unreadable.

He nodded.

"You think he's using me," she continued in the same dead tone.

He nodded again.

"Right. So, this is your _pathetic _excuse for _everything _you've done to me the past five years? That Victor was _using _me?" Listening to his reasoning out of her mouth, Ron felt like slapping himself multiple times across the face.

He decided to nod again.

For a minute her figure vanished.

And then suddenly she was so close to him that their noses were touching, their breaths were fuddled, his eyes unfocused on hers.

"I'm only going to say this once," Hermione spoke into his face. Now that Ron could feel her against himself, he felt the tremors going through her body and just how far her rage was taking her. He admired her ability to hide everything under her skin. "You are not my boyfriend. Do you understand? You are _not _allowed to make these conclusions or these accusations, because I am not _yours. _And I've never been yours." Her eyes turned a shade darker. "You're my friend." The finality of her statement made Ron feel like he'd been punched in the stomach. Her jaw clenched. "Start acting like it."

She expected no reply. Not that Ron was in the position to give one, anyway. He stood rooted in his spot, long after she'd stepped away from him. She picked up her nightclothes off the floor, and walked silently towards the bathroom.

Her foot over the threshold, she paused, her hand on the doorframe. "Besides," she added coldly, smiling with crude disgust as her head turned around. "He hasn't yet entranced me to murder Harry in his sleep, so I think it's time you invented a new excuse to make my life miserable."

The door clicked shut behind her. Ron felt like she had slammed it in his face. He stood staring at it, attempting to recover for several seconds. Silence rang in his ears. Realizing eventually that several seconds was not enough, he wobbled towards his bed, kicked off his shoes, and pulled the comforter up around his head, blocking every sight at sound from his mind. Had he not immediately fallen into a nightmarish slumber, he might have heard Hermione slump against the door and let herself collapse onto the linoleum, he might have heard her drop her head into her knees, might have heard her let out a gasp and begin crying meters away from him.

Instead, Ron was flying on Harry's broomstick, desperately trying to escape from a dragon that looked strangely like Hermione and insisted that they were friends.

* * *

I really wish would let you classify your stories into three categories. This one fits into Romance/Humor/Angst, and sadly this does not exist.

Oh, well.

Review?


	4. Doctor Love, Now At Your Service

And Harry arrives. The plot thickens. Ha.

* * *

The Burrow household was woken up by the crashing of plates onto the hard stone floor of the kitchen.

"Goodness gracious!" Molly screamed, jumping in her skin. "Harry! Oh, you've grown!"

Harry Potter appeared through the doorway of the Burrow, the second visitor in two days. He beamed at Molly toothily, before he was grabbed by the shoulders and pulled into a rib-cracking hug. "Dear how are you?" Molly breathed, holding him at arms length just like Hermione and observing him up and down.

"I'm fine," Harry managed before Molly cut in.

"You look like Ron," she scowled, pushing the red bandana on her head further up her hair. "Both of you look like you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes." Harry laughed easily, and hugged her again.

"Who brought you?" She asked kindly, making her way into the kitchen and motioning him to sit down.

"Tonks," Harry said, picking up a piece of toast and nibbling on it.

Her head popped out from behind the counter. She looked at him suspiciously. "Are you hungry Harry?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, a bit actually. If it's not too much trouble – "

" – Oh pish-posh, dear," she said dismissively, waving him away with a bat of her hand. "No trouble at all, I'll put something together for you. Some toast and jam?"

"Sounds great, thanks."

As Harry broke a piece of bread off and tossed it into his mouth, a furry ginger cat with a squashed face jumped onto his knees, startling him, before settling on his lap and beginning to purr. "So Hermione's here, then?" Harry asked happily, distractedly scratching Crookshanks behind

"Yes, she just arrived yesterday," replied Molly from the kitchen, tapping various pans and pots with her wand to prepare something for Harry. "I'm afraid her and Ron aren't getting along particularly well at the moment though. Arthur and I heard them having a row yesterday night, I swear the house was coming down."

Harry cringed. _Great, _he thought miserably. _Brilliant._ "Do you know why they were arguing?" he managed.

"Because Ronniekins is a right foul git."

For a split second, Harry thought the reply came from Molly, and his mouth dropped open, but he soon realized the source of the playful voice was behind him. He turned around to see Ginny hopping down the stairs two at a time. "Sorry," she said happily, "I was eavesdropping."

She walked around the table and stood next to Harry, smiling down at him. "Hi, you! Long time no see." Harry got up awkwardly to his feet, and gave her a semi-friendly hug. It didn't help that her hair kept bouncing into his face, bringing with it a whiff of her shampoo. His head spun.

She released him and sat down, grinning. "So we're talking about Ronnie and Hermione?"

"Yes, you could say that," Molly answered, walking back towards the table, charming a pot full of tea, a bread basket and some butter and jam. "Tea, Harry?"

"Yes, please."

Ginny sniggered. "Tut tut, my own mother gossiping about her son."

"Shut it, you," Molly snapped, whacking her arm with a wooden spoon. Ginny giggled. "I don't gossip. I merely _inform._" She strutted back into the kitchen with a dignified _Hmph. _

Harry kept his head down and focused on his jam. He could feel Ginny's eyes on his face. "So Ron and Hermione had a fight?" he muttered, sipping his tea casually, trying to avoid talking about last year and Ginny, while wondering about his two best friends.

"Yup, seems that way."

If they were _both _in a bad mood, it would make his stay in the Burrow about as fun as a birthday party for Snape and the Giant Squid.

"About what, do you know? Just so I don't mention it and set off World War Three?"

"I don't know much," Ginny muttered, averting her eyes.

"Ginny."

"I don't!" she protested. "Eat your food!" Her distraction attempt failed.

"Alright, your call. But if I make them kill each other it's not my fault. It's yours," Harry stressed. "Their blood. On _your _hands." He leaned in. "Blood. Your hands. Blood. Hands. Yours. Blo – "

"Fine! Fine! I know!" she shouted, her hands up in defense. "Just don't say blood or hands ever again, you're creeping me out."

Harry leaned back, satisfied. "So, then. What did Ron do?"

-x-x-x-x-

Harry pushed open Ron's door, walking in with his suitcase by his feet. The glare of the sunlight thought he window momentarily blinded him. "I'm doing it, I'm cleaning, I'm cleaning," Ron's voice flitted out of the sun. "Oh, thank god, mate. I thought you were my mum."

"That's something everyone wants to hear." Harry's eyes adjusted, and he saw Ron get up off the bed he'd obviously been lying in and "cleaning."

"How've you been?" Ron asked, clapping him over the shoulder.

"I've been good, you?"

The room was as messy as it always was, which to some might seem dirty and disgusting, to Harry was a delightful change after the sterile housekeeping of Aunt Petunia. Looking up and seeing Harry, Hermione leaped off the bed in the corner and came bounding towards him with a smile, enveloping him in a bear hug.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, hugging him tighter. "I've missed you!"

Harry laughed, patting her back. "I've missed you too, Hermione."

She released him, and stepped back, smiling broadly.

"That's your bed over there," said Ron, pointing toward a camp bed in the corner of the room. Harry nudged his trunk towards the foot of the bed, laid his cloak on the bed, and sat next to it. He proceeded to look between his two best friends, trying to decipher their facial expressions. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron throw a glance at Hermione, as she busied herself with a magazine, wearing an unusually cold face.

"So," Harry drawled, dangling his legs awkwardly off the side of the bed, "What's up with you guys? Have I missed anything? Any … drama … or…?"

Ron's eyes darted towards Hermione and back, who looked up from her magazine, a fake smile plastered on her face. "I'm great," she said loftily. "Just perfect."

Ron mumbled something about being fine.

"Actually," Hermione said matter-of-factly, rising from the bed, "I had something I wanted to talk to Ginny about, so excuse me." She walked to the door, Ron's miserable eyes following her. She paused at the doorway briefly and turning around, said, "Good to have you back, Harry."

Another brilliant fake smile, and she was gone. Dust lifted up off the floor as the door slammed behind her. The sound rang in Harry's ears and enveloped the silence that emerged between the two friends.

Ron appeared to be suddenly very interested in his shoelaces. This would be more convincing had he been wearing shoes.

"Ron?" said Harry tentatively, trying to catch his eye.

"Hmm?" he grunted, now observing the Chudley Cannons poster beside his bed.

"What's wrong with Hermione?" he prompted in a measured tone.

"I don't know. Nothing. I don't know. She's fine. Nothing. Everything's fine." He was now staring at the ceiling.

"Oh," Harry muttered sarcastically. "So the entire fake-persona that she's made up, and the creepy smiles, and the 'oh everything's dandy' attitude is real?" He paused, and feigned a fake pout. "Hm. Maybe I need new friends."

Ron didn't reply.

Sighing, got up from his bed and walked over to Ron. "You guys had a fight, right?" he asked imploringly, dropping down and sitting cross-legged.

"No."

"Ron."

"What? We're fine." His tone flew thee octaves higher than his regular.

"Ron. I know silent Hermione. I know red Hermione. I know screaming Hermione. All of that means she's angry. Now, _fake _Hermione," Harry sighed and shook his head gravely. "That means she's furious. And furious Hermione isn't good for anyone."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, the former's expression knowing.

"Fine," Ron blurted, grabbing his pillow and slouching onto it. "We had a fight," he grunted sheepishly. "Happy?"

"Not in the least," said Harry promptly. He leaned back and supported himself with his arms against the floor behind him. "About what?"

"Well…it was really just…but it was…and a little…maybe a bit…I…Oh, I don't know!"

"You seem all flushed and embarrassed." Harry looked at him, his eyebrow quirked. "So I'm assuming you told her."

"Told her what?" Ron muttered, still miserable.

"How you feel."

"What about how I feel?" he retorted.

"Ron," Harry said firmly, "I think the only person in this world who doesn't know you fancy Hermione is in fact, you and Hermione." He paused. "And maybe some of the portraits in school. But I'm pretty sure Cadogan and the Fat Lady know, so probably the whole school does too."

"I don't _fancy _her!" Ron protested, punching his pillow violently. "I just…she's just…I just like her a bit, that's it."

Harry's eyebrows threatened to disappear into his hairline. "A bit? Right. _A bit _has you saving her from a troll, swallowing slugs for her, has you hating Krum, despising McLaggen and snogging Lavender." He scowled. "Actually, McLaggen's just a git, but the rest is completely valid."

Ron flushed puce. "Well, fine. Maybe I like her. A bit. But now she hates me, so everything's fine and I don't have to deal with anything." He stuck his head under his pillow and waved Harry away.

Harry glowered at him in amazement, or what could be seen of his hair under his pillow. "You're ridiculous."

"I've been told," Ron muttered darkly, his voice garbled.

"You didn't even _attempt _to apologize for whatever you did to her?" Harry asked incredulously.

Ron scoffed indignantly. "I tried! But she was a stubborn little brat and wouldn't listen to me."

"Oh, come off it!" Harry snapped, frustrated. "You probably screamed your head off at her!"

Ron fell silent, his head bowed.

"Oh, no," Harry drawled dramatically as realization swept over him. "You…" he looked terrified as he drew in a gulp of air, "You brought up _Krum _didn't you?"

Ron peeked at him from under his pillow, and from what Harry could see of his one eye, he assumed the answer was in the affirmative. Before Harry could open his mouth to yell at him, Ron cut in, throwing the pillow aside.

"Well she brought up Lavender!" he shouted immaturely, shrugging. "I don't care! Krum's a ruddy pumpkin head and I was right! It's all his fault! I hope he falls off his stupid broom and nose dives into a pile of shi –"

Harry grunted, now clearly annoyed. Pointing at the door he said, "Ron, go tell her."

"Are you mental?!" Ron shrieked, hysteria in his tone. "I can't just _tell _her! She'll murder me before I get the chance!"

"No she won't!" Harry retorted exasperatedly.

"Alright, fine then she'll throw things at me and mortally wound me!"

"Well she has the bloody right!"

Ron sprang from his bed, and Harry mirrored his action, jumping up from the floor. He walked straight up to him and poked Harry's chest accusingly with his index finger. "Why are you taking _her _side?!"

"Well you're the one who behaved like a moron! I'm not –"

"She brought up Lavender!"

"Oh, so WHAT?!" Harry bellowed, his arms spread wide in frustration. "I'm sorry but I'm not going to spend my summer holidays trying to glue you guys back together so you might as well go and apologize before I throw you through a wall!"

They both stared at each other, chests heaving. Ron opened his mouth and looked like he was about to reply, but decided against it, and shut it instead. He shoved past Harry and walked over to the door, his hand on the doorknob, he paused.

"What am I going to say to her, Harry?" He asked, his tone dead, his eyes staring at the floor.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry suggested sarcastically, "How about telling her that you've fancied her since we were eleven, and just never had the guts to tell her?"

"Right," Ron grunted. "Right."

The door closed behind him, and Harry sank onto his bed, sighing deeply, lying back and dreaming of a world where his summers consisted of happy, happy people for a change.

* * *

I love this chapter. I love Harry. He makes me laugh :) Review?

johnnydicaprio

x


	5. Apologies, Apologies

This chapter went through some MAJOR editing. The entire end of it changed, and I really do like it better this way. Let me know how it fares with you guys.

johnnydicaprio

x

* * *

Ron's feet felt like lead. He dragged them across the hall slowly, attempting to extend the moment so he could mentally prepare himself for whatever waited for him behind his sister's door. He had planned it al out in his head. He would walk in, ask for a word with Hermione, drag her outside, and explain everything. The question was explaining what, exactly? How his pubescent brain has been obsessed and in love with her since he realized girls didn't disgust him when he was eleven?

His stomach gave a gigantic lurch. He raised his hand and rapped three times on the door.

"Who's there?" Ginny's voice floated from inside the bedroom.

"Er…" he swung the door inwards. "It's me."

He was met with the sight of Ginny and Hermione sitting on the bed. Hermione looked away the moment he entered, but he caught a glimpse of her face; it was puffy and swollen; she had been crying. Ron felt like he had been kicked in the gut.

"Hermione?" His throat closed up, his voice croaked.

She didn't reply.

He stared at the back of her head.

"What's up, Ron?" Ginny inquired casually, trying to cover up the silence.

"I just want a word with Hermione."

He saw her figure rise and fall as she inhaled a deep breath, and turned around. "What do you want?" Her voice barely trembled as she folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and peered up at him through her hair.

"Could I – " he took a large calming gulp of air, "Could I talk to you outside for a little bit?"

Their eyes locked. He smiled tentatively.

"No," she blurted simply. "Whatever you're going to say, you can say it in front of Ginny."

Ron's eyes shifted towards Ginny. Her expression had, until that point in the conversation been somewhat amused, but her eyes went wide when she saw his face. He tried to communicate _GET THE HELL OUT _wordlessly to her.

"Hermione, I'm going down to the kitchen for a bit. Mum was calling me. Sorry."

It seemed to have worked.

Hermione looked at Ginny disbelievingly. "What," she hissed in undertone, "_Now_?"

"Yeah," Ginny muttered sympathetically, her eyes darting towards Ron and back. "Sorry." She dropped her voice. "If anything happens, just yell for me and I'll kill him."

She gave Hermione a quick hug and shoving past Ron with a glare, slipped out of the room.

The moment the door clicked behind her, Hermione sprung off the bed, walked across to the end of the room as far away from Ron as she could, and stopped by the window. For the second time that night, Ron stared at the back of her head anxiously, hoping to get some inspiration.

_Worst case scenario, _he thought blearily, _I'll just fling myself out the window. _

"What do you want?"

Her voice cut into the silence. Ron stared harder at the back of her head, scrutinizing her every move.

"I know I screwed up," he managed slowly.

She scoffed silently, no humor in her voice. "Your apologies are getting slightly tiresome, Ron. You should buy them in bulk if you're going to go around handing them out this often."

His eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Sarcasm," he muttered dryly. "Great, because that's going to help."

"Right, because clearly this is helping more," Hermione retaliated without turning around.

Silence.

Ron stared at her face in the reflection of the window.

"I'd really prefer if we didn't talk about this right now," she finally muttered through clenched teeth, looking up and meeting his gaze in the reflection. "It's clear you have nothing more to say."

"I have plenty to say," Ron replied calmly. "You probably just won't listen."

"Well then go on, I wouldn't want to disturb your perfectly versed speech."

"Hermione," Ron groaned irritably, staring at her stony face. "You know I'm trying to apologize. Stop making this harder for me."

Her shoulders squared, and she turned around slowly, her expression cold and measured. "Trying is aiming to fail," she stated flatly. "Don't _try_," she spat, "Do it, or just get out."

Ron gave her a frustrated glare, his brow furrowed. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for last night."

The sentence punctured the tension in the air, and the feeling deflated around them like a wild balloon. Both let out a breath they didn't know they were holding.

Ron looked considerably more relaxed as he continued.

"Really, I am. I shouldn't have called you cold. I don't know what I was saying. You're – " he averted his eyes, " – Warm. If that makes sense. You're one of the kindest people I know."

She looked at the floor.

He followed her gaze and continued. "I shouldn't have brought up Krum. I shouldn't have said a lot of things."

Her arms remained crossed across her chest, a dead expression on her face, though she was still staring intently at the floor. "No, you really shouldn't have."

"I really am sorry, Hermione," He said sincerely, moving forward slightly, wanting nothing more than putting his arms around her. "I don't know what came over me. I just – I can't control my temper around –"

"What?" She suddenly cut in, outraged, light reflecting off the tear tracks on her cheeks as her head shot up in response. "Around me?! So it's my fault you screamed at me?"

Ron sighed, cocking his head to the side tiredly. "Clearly you can't control yours around me," he stated, his tone matter-of-fact. "Big surprise."

"Stop deflecting," she muttered hastily, batting a hand at him, irritated.

"I'm not deflecting," he responded calmly. "It's just…I don't like thinking about you with Krum."

"_With _Krum?"

"Well, I – " he fumbled, meeting her eyes, "Yeah."

"Ron," she sighed, stepping back, her voice bore the patient air of someone talking to a mentally slow person, "I'm not _with _Victor. I haven't been with Viktor for over three years."

"I know," Ron's head dropped miserably, and she had to strain to hear his next sentence, "And I know we're friends, so I have no right to judge you, but I can't put a lid on it. I don't know why. I'm possessive of you, I guess." He shrugged, lifting his head and looking at her. "I can't help it."

A second passed between them, their eyes on each other.

Hermione stepped forward casually. "Harry's not possessive of me," she prompted. "And he's my friend."

His face folded into an exasperated frown. "Harry's not me, Hermione."

She shook his expression off, indifferent. "So what's the difference?"

"Well – " Ron shoved his hands in his pockets, and shuffled his feet. "Well, Harry's…y'know…and _I'm _… y'know…" He looked up at her hopefully, gesticulating with his hands lamely.

Her eyebrows shot up, her tone painfully sarcastic. "Perfectly articulated, Ron."

He gave a small nod. "Thanks very much."

Another second of silence passed between them, and Hermione's expression neutralized. Ron had a peaceful moment where he thought the ordeal was solved, and gave a small smile, but her expression snapped to furious again, and his world crumbled.

Literally.

"Okay," she muttered angrily, pacing around the room slightly now, "I get what you're saying and it makes sense, but it doesn't excuse you treating me like crap for a whole year. If you were so irritated by me dating Krum you could have expressed it more maturely rather than ignoring me the whole year and bringing it up like a wild-card in practically every argument we have."

Expecting a broken plea or apology, Hermione's head jerked up when Ron exploded into genuine laughter.

"Why the hell are you laughing?!"

"You're talking about mature!" Ron said between laughs, clutching his stomach in hysterical pain. "You sent canaries after me because of Lavender! At least I didn't let loose any animals on your physical being because you were dating Krum!"

She didn't look particularly amused.

"You probably would have if you hadn't failed transfiguration in fourth year," she snapped, annoyed. "And _personally, _I prefer fluffy yellow birds to a giant red-head screaming his head off at me whenever he has the chance."

"Fluffy?" Ron's eyebrows shot up. "Clearly you've never experienced your canaries first hand."

She frowned. "My canaries were perfectly civil, thank you very much."

"Do you remember the only other animal we know that's named Fluffy?"

"Okay," she muttered, head down. "Point taken."

Ron dawdled in his place awkwardly through another moment of silence.

"So where does that leave us?" Hermione finally asked, looking up at him.

"I don't know," Ron said slowly. "All I know is that I'm sorry and that I was a huge idiot for saying everything that I did." He paused, his voice softer now. "I care about you Hermione, really I do."

He thought he saw an emotion flit past behind her eyes, but it was gone as soon as he'd noticed. "So," Hermione muttered, rather unchanged. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Ron repeated.

"You don't know much, do you?" She mumbled to herself.

He set his jaw. "Hermione."

"No, that's not how I meant it," she rectified, batting a hand dismissively. "I mean everything is up in the air. Nothing is concrete. I don't know anything. And I like concrete."

"Oh," Ron said. "I know. I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes tiredly, her lips upturned in a slight smile. "You can stop apologizing now."

"Right. Okay. Sorry."

"Ron."

"Damn it."

She laughed in spite herself, and the sound was better than anything Ron had ever heard. His shoulders relaxed, and a lazy look of contentment rose into his face. He smiled.

"So," he said slowly, "You don't hate me, right? And you aren't going to kill me?"

Her mouth twisted smugly. "Well, I don't hate you, but the killing part – I can't promise anything yet."

"Great," Ron said playfully. "Just let me know before so I can say my goodbyes."

"You won't even see it coming," Hermione said, grinning more broadly.

Ron looked at her smiling face, and had a sudden urge. He was across the room in less than a second, and he enveloped her shoulders in what can only be described as a bear-hug. Hermione breathed out a laugh in surprise, and hugged him back, burying her face in his collarbone. He held on longer than necessary; she disappeared in his chest.

"I love you, Hermione."

Then the world crashed around his head and his too-fast mouth.

* * *

Uh-oh. :)

I really like the dialogue in this chapter, feels real. Review?

x


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